


Until The Dawn Appears

by mockingjayne



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjayne/pseuds/mockingjayne
Summary: "Despite what he might think, it wasn't pity, and it wasn't desperation or a lack of options that had brought them together like this. He had been her choice. And every day she made the choice over and over again to be with him."
Relationships: Maggie Greene & Glenn Rhee, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Kudos: 12





	Until The Dawn Appears

Trudging through the long grass, trying not to make any noise, she wraps her arms around herself, the humidity of the day still hanging in the air, a never-ending heat that refuses to leave. The moon shines down on her, illuminating the blonde highlights in her otherwise brown hair, as she yawns, the day having caught up with her.

A determined look paints her face. She glances back, making sure no one in the house has caught on to her escape. It’s not the first time she’s snuck out of the house, many a teenage night were spent listening at her bedroom door, making sure everyone was asleep, before tip-toeing down the creaking steps, and making a run for it with some boy who didn’t deserve her time back then. It was only every once in a while that a sleepy Beth would catch her, peeking out of her own room, and she’d be forced to usher her back to bed, assuring her that she was just going to get a glass of water. But she always knew better. And used it to her advantage one too many times.

When she makes it to the section of the land that has been allotted home to the wandering group that had found a safe haven in the form of their farm, she glances around at the tents scattered in the vicinity of a fire that had long since been put out. She knows one of them is Glenn’s but as for which one, it’s hard to tell in the dark. She thought it was the one closest to the house, but she hadn’t seen him use it all the much, so it was still a guessing game at this point - their rendezvouses usually somewhere much more secluded and away from the others.

Approaching the tent she thinks is his, a darker colored one in the shape of a triangle more than the others, she kneels down, reaching for the zipper. She slowly opens the flap enough that she can crawl through before turning to do it up again, not wanting something or someone venturing into the tent because of a careless mistake.

It is pitch black in the tent, her eyes not having adjusted to the lack of light, and she remains kneeling by the entrance, until his silhouette becomes more clear. He is sprawled out on his stomach, just a white t-shirt clinging closely to his outline, accentuating his biceps, as his arm bends to tuck under his pillow. He’s still wearing his jeans, always thinking ahead, she thinks to herself, but his sneakers have been abandoned to the side.

His face is turned in the opposite direction of her, but that quickly changes when she moves to get closer, and clambers over a water bottle that rolls across the tent floor, hitting his leg, causing him to jump. He bolts awake, hands scrambling for the nearest thing that could act as a weapon, until he hears the faint giggle coming from her, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. He calms a little, squinting in the dark at her, before realization spreads across his face, and he finally relaxes back into his pillow.

“Maggie?” he asks, voice laced with sleep, the initial adrenaline of the scare draining from him.

“You expectin’ someone else?” she shoots back, constantly putting him on the spot, sure that if it were brighter in there, she would be able to see a slight blush cover his cheeks.

“N…no. Wasn’t expecting you either,” he nervously gets out. She smiles at that, lowering herself down beside him, resting her head right next to his on the pillow.

He lifts himself to his forearms so he’s looking down at her, his breath sending tendrils of her hair whispering across her neck.

“What are you doing here?” he gently asks.

She gives him a slow, sleepy smile before reaching out, and tracing invisible lines onto his bicep, sending goosebumps shooting up his arm with a slight shiver.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers, scooting closer into him.

“So you gave up your bed to come lay on the hard ground with me?”

She placatingly shrugs, breaking eye contact with him. “I can leave…” she starts, moving to get up.

“No!” he all but yells, before realizing his volume, and what that could potentially mean, the least of their problems - waking the group up. He grabs her arm to keep her from getting up. “No. It’s fine. Stay,” he finishes, with an air of confidence, not like the false bravado he’d employed with her before, but rather that he really knew that she wanted to be there. With him. And she did.

“Okay,” she whispers, drowsily. 

He lowers himself down to his side, facing her, and she does the same, their bodies completely aligned. It’s then that she finds herself glancing more than a few times at his lips, the same lips that seem to be moving open and shut, as if he wants to say something but catches himself at the last moment, and instead just nervously stares at her, like he’s not quite sure what she’s about to do, but is a more than willingly participant to whatever she wants.

She moves closer still, her lips resting just centimeters away from his own, their breath mixing with the humidity, leaving a heavy swell between the two of them. Her hand tentatively reaches out, tracing over his eyebrow, forcing his eyes to close at the gesture, before she comes to rest her hand upon his cheek. Her nose bumps his, scrunching up in a way he must have found amusing because he lets out a puff of air like a laugh, but then quickly grows more serious when she smiles against his lips, before capturing him in a sweet kiss.

She’d been drawn to him from the start. Hearing him debate more with himself than T-Dog on the protocol for entering the house, she’d found amusing. Here they were in the middle of God knows what, and he was thinking about manners and what was polite. She’d known he was something of a pure soul from the beginning.

And she just couldn’t help herself. He was a like a magnetic energy pulling her to him around every corner. She found herself wandering out to the porch, offering advice, attempting to make him feel better about the situation. She had no clue that that same night, he’d pay back the favor and comfort her after the death of another loved one. He didn’t have to, he could’ve awkwardly left, stayed out of her way. He didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. But he stayed. He helped. And through tear soaked eyes, she looked at him, and couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to be the next tragedy she’d have to survive.

Although, at this moment, pain and sorrow were the furthest thing from her mind as his fingers twisted around her short hair, their lips dancing across each other. The sweet taste of peaches lingering on his tongue from earlier, the juicy nectar now entangled with her own, tingling on her lips, causing a soft moan to escape.

He pulls away just slightly at the sound, breaking the kiss with a smile that she was beginning to recognize as one that was reserved just for her.

“Tell me something,” she says, no inflection to indicate a question, but rather a statement, a soft demand of him.

His hand runs through his hair, nervousness creeping back into him.

“Like what?” he says, flopping onto his back, his breath softly steadying, after having been stolen by her just moments ago.

She inches closer, half on top of him, her hair tickling his chest through his shirt.

“I don’t know. Anything. From before.”

He closes his eyes, as if trying to draw upon a time so far from the present, a muddled collection of memories that seem to fade with each passing day. She knows how that is, if not for the pictures adorning her fridge, the image of her passed family would have dissipated or rotted into the walking flesh that now haunt her.

She rests her chin on his chest, waiting for his response. It’s not that she wants to pry. Hell, he could tell her anything, his favorite color, and she would be pleased. The heaviness of the days have begun to weigh upon her, the devastation of all they’ve lost piling up. And while her and Glenn had certainly found interesting ways to take the edge off, they’d yet to toss around trivial aspects of their life, aside from the random video game references that she rolled her eyes at, but secretly found adorably endearing.

“I have three sisters,” he starts, opening his eyes and staring straight above him into the top of the tent. “All older.”

“You’re the baby,” she says, grinning into his chest.

“Yeah,” he groans. 

“So, uhh, what happened to them?” She broaches the subject carefully, not wanting to bring up a barrage of bad memories, but curiosity ultimately getting the best of her.

His lips purse together, forehead creasing with worry, before shaking his head and whispering, “I don’t know.”

Silence rings out over them, the moment left to mourn what was probably the loss of his entire family, and with no way to ever really find out. Her hand calmly slides back and forth over his chest, soothing the wound that she’s ripped open with her question.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into his shirt, the vibration of her words sinking in.

“They were always giving me a hard time,” he says with a grin, recovering quickly, perhaps not wanting to make her feel bad or choosing instead to focus on the good. “God, I can remember one time they dressed me up in my mom’s clothes, even put lipstick on me.”

She can’t help the snort of laughter that comes out picturing a little Glenn in an oversized dress, red lipstick everywhere.

“Ugh, God, why did I say that? Forget I told you that,” he embarrassedly pleads with her.

“Nope. Sorry. I’m definitely gonna remember that. Forever,” she adds, her quiet laughter heard throughout the tent, leading to another groan from him.

“Ugh, just let me know when I have completely ruined all my chances with you,” he self-deprecatingly warns.

She stops at that, her forehead creasing with confusion.

But before she can question him, he quickly adds, “Your turn. You tell me something.” 

She balks, still processing his offhanded comment, staring at the sweet guy who would literally do anything for anyone, someone that people have come to rely on, and yet can’t even recognize his own worth.

When she’d suggested in the pharmacy that he wasn’t the only one that was lonely, she hadn’t been lying. Sure, she was surrounded by family, those she loved, which is more than she could say for a lot of people, including Glenn, but being secluded on a farm, the same daily routine, never running into anybody new, it was lonely. She was lucky, grateful even, to not have experienced some of the things Glenn’s group had clearly been through, but that certainly didn’t mean that she was content with her life. And perhaps she was tempting fate in trying to have it all - but she couldn’t help but think wasn’t it better to live, really live, than to stand idly by waiting for something to happen?

“Anything?” she tests him.

He nods.

She maneuvers herself up, swinging her leg over him to where she is now straddling his waist, her hands laying flat on his chest, as his hands coming to rest on her hips like a habit. The pads of his thumbs, rhythmically rubbing over her hip bones, a sweet, subtle gesture, the kind she’d come to expect from him.

Leaning in, her mouth hoarsely breathing into his ear, his grip becomes tighter around her, but never to the point of painful. She reaches out beside him grabbing the object that catches her eye, resting just under the blanket, rustling against the bottom of the tent.

“We’re gonna have to make another run,” she murmurs into him.

He lets out a breathy, “Why?” Palpably confused, but also intent on the motion of her hips, slowly moving back and forth with her reach.

She sits up, settling squarely in a sitting position atop of him that elicits the reaction she’d been hoping for, and he quickly shuts his eyes, relishing in the feeling of her.

Waiting for him to open his eyes, she holds up an empty box. “Last one,” she laments with a wicked grin.

“Another eleven minutes of your life you’re willing to part with?” he smirks back at her.

“Somethin’ like that,” she wistfully throws out, before leaning down to meet his waiting lips.

Despite what he might think, it wasn’t pity, and it wasn’t desperation or a lack of options that had brought them together like this. He had been her choice. And every day she made the choice over and over again to be with him. For whatever tragedy loomed over them, she knew she wanted him by her side for as long as she was allowed.


End file.
